Caves
by MercurialNight
Summary: "I know only the pain of memory and the pleasure of the hunt. I will take that pleasure, to the end.  -Drizzt Do'Urden" ; The Lone Drow - R. A. Salvatore


As always, the disclaimer: I don't own Forgotten Realms or Drizzt or Guenhwyvar or any idea as to why we have to keep putting these little notes up when the whole point of fanfiction is that the characters aren't ours. *shrug* Oh, and I don't own the song, which is "Away From the Sun" by Three Doors Down. (Love them. XD)

So I have a kinda tragedy oneshot, which is not unusual. I'm unsure whether it was wise to leave the ending where I did. I guess if I get some inspiration or feedback that helps me figure out how to end it beter, I'll change it. Anyway, this idea has been floating around in my mind for a while, and I liked it so much I finally forced myself to get started. Hopefully it turned out good and not completely plotless. =] Let me know!^^

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**Away from the sun,**

**Again.**

There was nothing left here any more. Cavern walls are empty as a heart that chooses to walk among them. Empty and cold. But they feel nothing—because there is nothing to feel. The only thing is emptiness. Sweet and ignorant disconnection from all the rest of the world. The ultimate retreat.

It is a tragic form of bliss. To live in a cave.

A horned helmet stood alone. In the stone-enclosed hollow there was small amount of sunlight to reflect on the fine mithral. There was no mind to reflect on the stories behind the helm's many nicks and dents. The only one who laid lavender eyes on the helmet never gave a thought to the battles that had gained this helmet its scars. That person would look at this desolate monument, the only crown its royal owner had ever worn, and know only fury.

One antler protruded from the top, pulling the helmet down by the unequal weight, so that it tilted on the forked stick it hung from. It was alone now. For hours on end, there would be a pair of remarkable eyes, hollow, burning eyes, to stare seethingly into the dust-gathering metal surface. But the owner of those eyes was gone right now.

He was out losing himself.

**It's down to this.**

Mindless. He could be mindless here. Out among the rage and the enemies, he barely had to do any work—or devote any more pain to his thoughts. The Hunter did all the work and left the emotions for him to revel in. It was easy vengeance.

His scimitars moved beautifully. An orc lost its eyes; another lost its entire windpipe, and all in two movements. The Hunter's eyes held only one emotion: fire. All the anger of the ages seethed from out those lavender orbs. They weren't different any more. The color was still peculiar and unlike his race, but it no longer could differentiate him from any other animal—any other monster.

That was alright. There was nothing else.

The drow was now surrounded by a circle of five orcs. Their eyes were wide, weapons clutched close, and there was a strange lack of hoots and growling. These fought of fear. Nearby, several others lie very still, dull liquid pools spreading from mangled wounds. One, even, twitched about with a broken spine in its own campfire, unable to move as its blackened skin peeled away from its bones.

The Hunter was merciless as usual, today. He crouched in the ring, at a ready, as the remaining five cowered in their circle. His eyes narrowed. The Hunter moved.

Three orcs were dead in the first ten seconds. When the other two tried to run, such a torrent of fire simmered from out the Hunter's livid eyes that they were immediately frozen to the spot. An incoherent snarl ripped from the black fury that was their attacker. As he darted forward, the larger of the two orcs cried out, terrified, and…

...and stepped forward.

The orc shoved his companion behind him and stepped forward to meet the livid terror. Actual _tears _in his beady eyes, he bared his teeth and thrust his spear forward.

Unreached, uncompromised, the Hunter ducked under the stabbing spear, and in a movement he didn't fully register, sliced a precise hole through the attacker's heart. The orc shrieked. Behind him, his companion also screamed in miserable protest. Yet…that one had not felt his sword.

The drow immediately corrected that problem. Their dying agony was his to bask in. The disgusting creature's blood splashed across his black face, setting him afire, setting him alive. A primal snarl tore from the Hunter's lips and he spun, scimitars working even as those horrible eyes searched out the next who would fall.

But there were no more enemies. Nothing left to kill.

Nothing left.

**I've got to make this life make sense.**

**Can anyone tell what I've done?**

He stood a statue, a black silhouette. He was acutely aware of his own breathing. Rasp in, rasp out, repeat. As the adrenaline began to fade, the Hunter gradually released his paranoia, precariously convinced that—for now—there was no immediate threat.

Drizzt drew in a deep breath, releasing it as his head tilted back. The tips of his swords sank into the spongy, blood-soaked moss beneath his bare feet. He hadn't worn shoes in a long time; there was no need for his boots anymore.

His eyes hadn't softened in the slightest. They were still fire.

The sun's position told him how long until night. Soon, he said. The Hunter didn't think in hours. He focused on one thing at a time, one day, one hour. In battle—one second. But, at any rate, now it was time to move.

He strode forward, crossing the small hollow that had once been the orc's scout camp. His feet passed over the carnage and he left the mangled scene for the carrion. He couldn't spare a thought to question what he'd just done; the Hunter was already casting the memory from his mind.

**I miss the life.**

**I miss the colors of the world.**

**Can anyone tell where I am?**

With nothing left to kill for today and a decent amount of time left before the night came, it was inevitable where his trail would lead. He let his feet wander automatically as the Hunter started along the familiar path, the one that would lead him to his scene of gruesome inspiration.

Drizzt's eyes were cast down at his feet and the path that wound through the forest, around the mountain. But his sight was far away. He knew the way too well to have to think about it. The only downside to this was that, while the Hunter piloted his body, his mind was left alone with itself.

Times like this, the memories returned.

He saw again the image of a white stone tower, foundation crumbling, walls falling bit by bit to the abyssal ground so far below. Drizzt's eyes closed in a wince against the familiar knife in his heart. Sorrow pierced fire. But his footsteps carried on. Because he had to go somewhere. Where was he to go except back there? Forward didn't exist anymore. His future…lay in his friends. And his friends lay forever in the merciless cold ground.

So where was he now, without them? He'd often asked himself where he would be if they were not in his life. Now his path had brought him to such a place, and he still wondered at the same question.

**Now again I've found myself so far down,**

**Away from the sun**

**That shines into the darkest place—I'm**

**So far down,**

**Away from the sun again.**

He'd been here once before. The Underdark had stayed inside him, hid in the deserted corners of his mind, and now it had seized its chance to manifest once more. The nightmare he'd thought he'd escaped had found him again. The depths he knew were despicable; he'd thought to have left them behind. A duergar had pulled him free…a companion… But he had none of those now. The Hunter knew where he was. But Drizzt was lost.

Suddenly, his instincts told him to stop. His eyes turned upward.

He realized he'd arrived by the livid rush that rose in his chest. The sorrow fled, his hunger arose, and all thought disappeared—for he looked upon the cataclysm that was Shallows.

Instinct, however, was also a part of the Hunter's renewal. He found himself at the top of a rocky outcropping, which was inclined enough so that he could duck down behind it. His eyes narrowed, solid, his face like stone as he surveyed the scene below. Orcs crawled wretchedly among the ruins of the once-strong town. There were thousands upon thousands of them—several tribes encamped all among the scattered city.

The only option in the face of such numbers was to go back to his cave. He knew he could never hope to get into a fight with so many and survive.

And…the most peculiar look came into Drizzt's eyes.

**I'm over this.**

**I'm tired of living in the dark.**

**Can anyone see me down here?**

There was nothing up here on this ridge. There was nothing in his cave, except that…unbearable, empty helmet. And what, Drizzt, did that helmet remind you of? There was revenge to be had. He'd put Bruenor's helm on that stick in the middle of his hollow so that he would never forget. Anything.

He was set to remember his vengeance. That was all there was. And it did not lay back there in his cave.

Drizzt put a hand in his pocket and produced a solid onyx figurine.

"Come to me, Guenhwyvar. There are…demons we must face."

**The feeling's gone.**

**There's nothing left to lift me up,**

**Back into the world I've known.**

The Hunter resisted his every step. Instincts sent off a thousand alarms in his head. He could be surrounded and not know it. His heart raced, every sensation heightened, as his eyes tried to see everywhere at once. He was walking towards the place he should be fleeing. Danger. Enemies.

Hunger.

He could not go back. He couldn't face that cave again—that empty helmet that rested on a crooked stick instead of where it really belonged: atop his friend's thick dwarven skull. Forward he pressed, creeping slowly down the wooded slope. The only thing that eased his mind in the slightest was the presence of Guenwhyvar, slinking along beside him. Her ears were pressed flat on her head; she sensed the danger as well. But she stayed with him. She knew what he was and where they were going—Drizzt held no doubts about that. Guenhwyvar knew. But still she stayed with him.

That…shouldn't that make him happy?

No. No thinking. The Hunter demanded his attention.

Everything depended on silence and invisibility. From his high vantage point he'd picked out the best place to enter: a hole in the city wall that had been torn open by the orc attack. Many orcs milled about the spot, but less than any other possible entry. He and Guen now approached, blending into the shadows and covered by the underbrush. He took a position behind a fairly large thicket of bushes and allowed himself to pause, waiting and watching.

He could see three campfires near his chosen entrance, each crowded by orcs, with several more milling about further away. Sentries, probably, and doing poor jobs. The stupid creatures thought themselves safe after this great victory.

Drizzt's lips curled back in a silent snarl. A victory. To take everything in his world and crush it. They thought it a grand adventure to douse the light of Bruenor Battlehammer from the world. His hands had started shaking with the weight of the Hunter's rage. It was burning again—perhaps stronger than it ever had been. His livid, shining eyes swirled in his silent storm, a torrent of living fire from out a black face of abyss. The Hunter was alive again.

He began to rise, leaving behind safety, sure to lose all choice. Once he lost his cover, the consequence would be irrevocable. He didn't care.

Just as his head was rising over the bushes, something caught him by the edge of his cloak. Drizzt whirled around with a growl, scimitars flashing out, prepared to plunge them into an orcish heart. His blades were in motion even as he realized what it was that had caught him. His eyes widened in shock.

The scimitar froze in the air, less than two inches from Guenhwyvar's forehead. Drizzt stayed frozen in place, trembling wildly, his shocked lavender eyes locked inescapably with Guen's calm gaze. She pointedly released his cloak from her teeth. Her eyes stared directly into his, solid, unrelenting, with an expression so steady it pierced straight through to his soul. It cut past even the Hunter's wall of fury as easily as a sword cuts paper.

He'd nearly killed Guenhwyvar.

**And now again I've found myself**

**So far down,**

**Away from the sun that shines into**

**The darkest place—I'm**

**So far down.**

The scimitars fell to the ground. Drizzt released a small cry and spilled onto his knees, snatching the panther's head in his hands, his forehead against hers. "Guen—!" Tears from his lavender eyes soaked into her sleek fur. "I am sorry…Oh, I am sorry…" he croaked miserably.

Guenhwyvar didn't pull away. A small feline sound rumbled from her chest. Drizzt clung to her desperately, his breath hissing through his teeth as he tried to make his crying silent. "Guenwhyvar…You know. Y-you know I am sorry," he whispered. "Y-you know I h-ate to…l-live in such caves…"

He tried to get control of himself, his delicate fingers knotting into Guen's soft fur. Finally, with the Hunter's desolate presence reminding him that grief had no place in survival, he pushed the tears back. Guen rumbled her deep purr again and licked his face as he released her head. He couldn't stop a broken smile in response. His black hand stroked her black fur as sat back on his knees, taking a deep breath. Wearily, he tilted back his head and closed his eyes.

Finally, his dull voice barely whispered, "But there is nowhere else."

**Away from the sun**

**That shines to light the way for me,**

Guenhwyvar stared at him in that profound silent way. She suddenly stood, causing Drizzt to glance her way curiously. She turned around, facing the way they'd come, and padded off a few feet. Then she stopped and turned around, boring into him with those liquid eyes of a thousand silent words.

Drizzt shook his head in confusion. "What. Back to the cave?"

Guen snorted, lowering her head as her ears dropped down. Like a panther glare. Drizzt spread out his hands in exasperation. "_What?_ I can usually understand you, Guen, but—"

She bared her teeth in a quiet growl, her eyes flicking over his shoulder. He hushed, realizing her warning. He was getting too loud, forgetting that they were only yards away from thousands of bloodthirsty orcs. The Hunter inwardly chastised himself for such foolishness. He should be focusing on the task. A warrior needed complete concentration on his surroundings. Weakness had no place in times like these.

Guen bounded up the slope again, stopping to look back once more. Then she raised her head, nose pointing in the direction of Shallows. Drizzt followed her gaze and, after a long moment of though, finally realized what she was getting at. She was looking in the general direction of Shallows' main gate—to the road the dwarves had taken in retreat.

Drizzt's head slowly shook back and forth, his eyes cloudy and far away. To follow them…To see the leftover army and hear confirmation of what he denied… He could not. "Guen…not there. Not to Mithral Hall," he pleaded.

**To find my way**

**Back into the arms that care about**

**The ones like me.**

"I cannot." Hope, vain hope, was the only thing he had left. To return to Mithral Hall was to confirm what he knew, in the darkest corners of his mind, to be true—and to destroy that hope. It was denial and stupidity. It was also cowardice. He knew that.

"It is…uncertain…" He ground his teeth, angry at the tears that threatened once more. "I don't know about them Guen. I don't want to." No… He saw the orcs. He knew the truth he denied.

He so longed to see their faces—to hear their voices again. Gone…forever gone…but he had no proof. He couldn't _face_ proof!

Guenhwyvar was suddenly right beside him, drilling him with those uncompromising yellow eyes. To Drizzt's astonishment, she opened her jaws and lunged forward. His instincts alone made him throw himself back, throwing up his arms defensively. But Guen was faster; she'd taken him by surprise—and anyway, she had only wanted his cloak.

She tugged several times, dragging him forward. "Guen—Guen let go!" he hissed. As he pulled back, her teeth tore holes in the fabric. She did let go, sitting back as his momentum toppled him over onto his back. Drizzt sat up again with a growl. Familiar anger bubbled in his chest; his eyes hardened dangerously. The Hunter did not like to be toyed with.

The panther's suddenly fierce growl caused him to come forward with a snarl of his own. But she wasn't growling at him, he realized, following her eyes. The Hunter immediately dropped into a crouch, scooping up his scimitars, every thought flown from his mind.

The orcs had spotted them.

**I'm so far down,**

**Away from the sun again.**

Drizzt slowly came out from behind the bushes, Guen alongside him. There was no use in keeping his cover now. The orcs around the closest fire had spotted him; they were all advancing with weapons drawn and ugly teeth bared. There were six. A glance to the side told him that the other camp was getting curious. One of the orcs in the immediate group shouted in that direction. To Drizzt's ultimate annoyance, the second group of orcs roused and started that way, hooting and waving weapons over their heads.

The Hunter remembered his friends. The kin of these creatures had destroyed them. Their disgusting, hot orc blood pumped freely through weak veins, while the blood of his entire world stained the earth. Drizzt straightened, towering darkly with a blank face. His eyes rekindled. The fire returned.

He embraced the hunger.

The orcs charged at once. Still the shadow remained. Unmoving. Unafraid. Aflame. Like a statue, he stood tall and straight-backed: a silent rage. The molten terror of his eyes stared, two points of seething light in a sea of shadow. The enemies ran headstrong, easily fifteen—twenty—more coming behind.

And like the triumph of a demon flood, his fury burst upon them.

**I'm gone.**


End file.
